Mycroft's daughter
by mycsherly
Summary: A collection of one shot's showing events that occur between Mycroft and his infant daughter from the time of her birth to the time of his unexpected death. Inspired by psycofan's Family Trial. Slight OoC Mycroft, and slightly (all right, very) fluffy.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys!**

**so, i wrote this fic after reading psycofan's Family Trial as a sort of prequel. You might appreciate it slightly better if you read that first (you can find it in my favourite stories on my profile), but you can read this as a stand-alone fic too (though some parts might not make complete sense or seem necessary). any way, i hope you enjoy it!**

**On another note, I'm looking for betas, so anyone who is interested, please, feel free to PM me! **

**thanks!**

**Ps: i wrote this fic while listening to coldplay's Sky full of Stars. its a really great song!**

Mycroft sighed for the hundredth time as he paced outside the operation theatre in the small clinic. He couldn't believe that he had been so careless. One night of careless sex, and here he was nine months later pacing the hallway in a private clinic awaiting the birth of his child.

His child, dear god, what was he getting himself into? He should just walk away while he still had a chance, let the child's mother take care of it. But the minute Mycroft thought about the mother, his mind protested against leaving the kid with its mother. All said and done, the child was a Holmes and left to its mother, would probably end up in a dingy orphanage somewhere. Mycroft's resolve strengthened. He would never allow his child to be subjected to such conditions.

He wondered if he would have a son or a daughter. A son he could train to take after him, but oh god, to be the father of a daughter. A daughter who would smile and light up any room she was in, Mycroft blinked as he suddenly realised that he very much wanted to be the father of a daughter.

That didn't mean that the thought of being a father didn't terrify him.

"Mr. Holmes?" a nurse's voice called out to him.

Looking at her, Mycroft saw that she held a bundle in her arms. He swallowed, it looked he'd find out whether he was lucky enough to be the father of a daughter.

"Mr. Holmes, I would like to introduce you to your daughter," she smiled handing him the sleeping baby in her arms.

A daughter, the thought filled his stomach with butterflies. He had a daughter. Looking down at the tiny little human being in his arms Mycroft immediately saw that she had the Holmes bone structure and had Sherlock's dark curly hair. '_Good, that would keep questions and speculations about the mother at a minimum.' _ Nodding his thanks to the nurse, he was about to go back home when she told him timidly.

"I'm sorry to say, that her mother didn't survive childbirth."

Mycroft blinked, he hadn't been particularly fond of the child's mother, but he had counted on her help for the first few months. Oh well, one couldn't have everything in life.

Nodding his understanding, he was once again about to leave when the nurse asked him, "what's her name sir? For the birth certificate." She clarified.

Looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms, Mycroft said softly, "Rayleigh, her name's Rayleigh Elizabeth Holmes." And with that he walked out and into his jaguar, confident that Anthea would take care of the rest of the paper work. After all, he had a baby to look after.

Reaching his home, Mycroft walked into his seven bedroom penthouse with Rayleigh still in his arms. He was taking this surprisingly well, he thought to himself privately, but then again the shock hadn't set in yet.

Walking up to the bedroom adjacent to his, Mycroft opened the door after carefully balancing Rayleigh, to reveal a splendid nursery. The room had everything that Rayleigh could possibly need for the next few years. Putting her into her brand new, oak-wood crib, Mycroft stepped back and observed his daughter properly.

She was tiny, that was the first thought that registered in his mind. Her entire body's length was less than the distance between the tip of his middle finger and his elbow. She wasn't very pink though, not like all the manuals he had read had described newborns. He frowned, was there something wrong? But then he realised it was probably genetics. Both Mycroft and Rayleigh's mother were very pale, it was only natural that she would be too. Leaning closer to observe her, Mycroft absentmindedly catalogued her features. She had his nose and jaw, her cheekbones and hair resembled Sherlock, the arch of her ear reminded him of his mother's ears, she had small, rosebud pink lips and she smelt of disinfectant. His lips pursed together when he realised that the cause for the last and, quite frankly, disturbing observation was because she had yet to be changed from the white blankets she had been swathed in at the clinic. Looking around for something, to dress her in, Mycroft found a baby pink onesie.

Swallowing as he realised he would have to change her, he took a deep breath and moved to remove her blankets. Suddenly, he froze as he realised that she had woken up when she started moving and opened her eyes. Standing very still to ensure that she didn't start crying, Mycroft inhaled sharply when her eyes locked onto his.

They were his eyes. This little child that he hadn't even known about until last week had his sapphire blue eyes. But they were filled with an innocence that Mycroft had never seen in his. And then she smiled. It wasn't the most meaningful of smiles perhaps, but its intent was clear. She didn't wail, she didn't cry; with her eyes looking at him in wonder, this child, _his daughter_ had smiled. His throat closed up as he realised that he was the first person she had smiled at, and now, he watched mesmerised as she reached a tiny little hand out to him. Unconsciously, he picked her up, cradling her in the crook of his shoulder. Her smile widened and she gurgled at him, and Mycroft couldn't stop the soft smile that crept onto his face.

In that moment, Mycroft knew he was doomed. Suddenly, with an amazing clarity, he knew that he would do whatever it took to ensure that that air of innocence around her was preserved and to ensure that she kept smiling at him like that. He would brave the ninth circle of hell, lie, murder, cheat, destroy nations, and even, if need be, defy death, just to ensure that she would be as safe, happy and protected for the rest of her life, as she was right now, cradled in his arms.

He felt a wave of emotions crash over him as he came to this realisation – love, protectiveness, joy; and he knew, without a doubt she had completely wrapped him around her tiny little finger after he had barely known her for an hour!

"Hello Rayleigh, I am Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft said softly, sighing when her little eyes blinked at him in confusion, "I am your papa." He said, and felt a slight frisson go through him when he finally admitted it.

Because that's who he was.

Her papa.


	2. First Word

**Right, so here's the next chapter. Hope you like it!**

Eight months later, Mycroft had to admit that he was enjoying being a father. There was nothing in the world he would trade for Rayleigh, she had changed his life. Gone was the emotionless, ice cold man Mycroft used to be. Now, Mycroft had noticed that he smiled and laughed significantly more – only at home with Rayleigh of course.

After, eventually deciding against telling people about her, and a nanny, for security reasons, Mycroft had invariably been left with the task of raising his daughter. Of course, he had help from Anthea and Arthur, his driver, the only people who knew of her existence – apart from him of course.

Today, sitting in his study at home at seven in the evening, Mycroft knew he was supposed to be reviewing a file regarding military operations in the Middle East, but instead, here he was smiling as he thought of the particularly refreshing time he had spent with the light of his life in the morning.

Rayleigh had been rather hyperactive today morning, and so Mycroft had spent the entire hour, running around, chasing his daughter who was wobbling all over the house. Rayleigh had just learnt how to walk and was using every opportunity she got to walk around. Her unrestrained excited laughter as she had gone under the kitchen table had dispelled all of Mycroft's irritation and had made him laugh as well.

After finally locating and capturing his daughter, Mycroft had made her sit at the table as he prepared her bottle of milk, and as she had sucked on it contentedly, Mycroft entertained her by telling her interesting adventures that her 'papa' and 'uncle Sherlock' had gotten into as kids. Mycroft didn't really know how much Rayleigh understood, but she certainly seemed to enjoy hearing his voice, a fact that made Mycroft preen.

The rest of the morning was spent on the living room carpet, with Mycroft lying down on his back and Rayleigh lying peacefully on his chest as she had fallen asleep watching the flames in the fireplace and listening to Mycroft's soothing baritone.

Thinking about Sherlock, made Mycroft frown and put the file down. Mycroft knew Sherlock had a right to meet his niece but he didn't know how safe it was for Rayleigh if Sherlock knew about her.

Mycroft felt a soft tug on his trouser's leg. Looking down, his frown was replaced with a smile as he saw Rayleigh.

"Look who it is!" he cooed as he picked her up, "my darling little girl! Are you up from your nap now? How did you get in here sweetheart?" Mycroft asked her as he noted his open door, but remembered that he had put Rayleigh in her crib.

As she gurgled her answer Mycroft walked to her room, carrying her in his arms. Reaching the brightly coloured room, Mycroft saw that the crib's door was now open.

"Did you do that?" Mycroft asked his daughter, puzzled.

Her bright smile and the way she hid her face into his shirt, muffling her peals of laughter, were answer enough and Mycroft smiled brightly.

"Oh my clever, clever girl! So you managed to open the lock did you? Oh you are so intelligent aren't you? Papa's clever little girl!" Mycroft praised, as he walked back into his study and sat down.

Situating her on his lap comfortably, Mycroft wrapped a protective arm around her to ensure that she wouldn't fall down and focussed his attention on his files.

Rayleigh kept blabbering on his lap and while he nodded and gave the appropriate answer, he concentrated mainly on the file in front of him.

A few minutes later he felt Rayleigh tug on his tie.

"Not now darling, papa has to work." Mycroft said absentmindedly.

A couple of minutes later, she stopped and instead shuffled around on his lap so that she was now facing him.

"Papa"

Mycroft froze at the soft, melodic sound. The file slipped out of his fingers as he looked at Rayleigh in surprise.

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" she said happily, clapping her hands together her dark curls bouncing around her face as her blue eyes stared into his, filled with joy, love and pride.

Mycroft felt his face split into a wide grin.

"Oh aren't you a genius?! Your first word! Congratulations my love! Oh my clever, clever girl! I love you so much! I adore you! And look what you said, princess! You my darling, sweet, beautiful, wonderful, magnificent, clever, intelligent, ingenious girl said 'papa'!" Mycroft exclaimed overjoyed, spinning his daughter around his study.

For the rest of the evening his study was filled with sounds of both their laughter and Rayleigh's repeated cries of 'papa!'

The file remained forgotten.


	3. Interesting

**I'm so sorry this is such a short chapter, there will be more, I promise!**

"God! People are so stupid and boring!" Mycroft ranted angrily after having just gotten off the phone with the French ambassador.

"Papa? Me bo-win?" a childish voice asked him curiously.

Mycroft spun around to see Rayleigh there, standing unsteadily on her feet as she supported herself against his desk.

Immediately sweeping her off her feet and into his arms Mycroft said, "not at all love. You are _very _interesting."

"Pwomise?" she asked him her wide blue eyes imploring.

Huffing out a laugh Mycroft kissed her forehead, "promise."


	4. Telling Sherlock

Mycroft walked into his house after a normal day at office. Discarding his coat and umbrella, he walked in and froze, tensing when he saw the intruder.

"Sherlock, you can't just barge into my house whenever you feel like!" Mycroft said frustrated as he relaxed his tensed muscles when he saw his brother sitting in his living room. "It's my house and you can't just come and go as you feel like! I care a lot about you but that doesn't mean I want to share everything with you!"

"Clearly." Sherlock said darkly.

Mycroft's heart sank when he saw the very thing he dreaded. Rayleigh was on the floor in front of Sherlock.

"Papa!" she cried happily, raising her arms demanding to be picked. Mycroft thought quickly, he couldn't let Sherlock think Mycroft cared about his daughter or Sherlock would use it against him. At the same time he couldn't let Rayleigh give away the ploy by treating him like she always did. Making a decision, he walked to his daughter and picked her up.

"What are you doing outside your play pen?" Mycroft asked her sounding detached. "Do excuse me Sherlock, I need to put her back in." Mycroft let a note of exasperation enter his words.

"By all means." Sherlock said, waving his hand in a careless gesture.

Walking up to Rayleigh's room he put her in her play pen and gave her a kiss on the forehead before he walked out locking the door behind him.

"So, I assume you have questions?" Mycroft asked as he re-entered the living room.

"Yes. Is she yours?" Sherlock asked.

"Obviously," Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Where's the mother?"

"Out of the picture."

"Unprotected casual sex? Really Mycroft?" Sherlock sounded amused.

"In the end we are but humans," Mycroft drawled.

"Of course. Why the secrecy?"

"Security reasons, privacy." Mycroft said nonchalant. "Anything else Sherlock?"

"She's adorable by the way, I can hardly see the resembelance between you two. Apart from that, no, not really. Good bye Mycroft." Sherlock said as he walked out of the house, shutting the automatically locking door behind him securely.

Mycroft sighed as he poured himself a drink. He had an unusual family all right.


	5. Worry

Mycroft walked into his house, loosening his tie as he removed his coat and umbrella and kept them on the stand.

"Rayleigh?" Mycroft called eager to hear his daughter's delight filled yell after his tiring day.

Instead he heard a pained sob, "papa!"

Instantly worried, Mycroft bounded towards the staircase, heart pounding as he imagined what could have made his daughter cry out like that. Halfway there he froze. Rayleigh was lying face down on the landing between the first and second floor. Immediately, he realised the she must have fallen down the stairs.

Heart pounding, he raced to his daughter and picked her up gently.

"Papa, hurts." His one and a half year old daughter moaned, tears running down her beautiful face.

"Shhh, I know it does princess, I'm so sorry I wasn't here to catch you." Mycroft said softly, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Surveying his daughter quickly, Mycroft sighed in relief when he saw that they were no broken bones. In fact, Rayleigh only had a scraped knee and a cut on her forehead. Looking into his daughter's pain-filled eyes, Mycroft felt his heart clench. Taking her to his bedroom, Mycroft set her down on his large bed and got the first aid kit out.

Kissing her forehead softly, he set to work and applied the antiseptic on her cuts. Her pained yelps made him feel awful, and it was only the knowledge that the antiseptic would help her, that allowed him to continue with the god-awful task.

Once he was done cleaning the wounds, he put a band-aid on each of her wounds and kissed them both.

"Is that better darling?" Mycroft asked her softly as he stroked her hair.

She nodded, her big blue eyes filled with tears before she threw her arms around him and cried into his shirt. Every time she sobbed Mycroft felt like she was stabbing him, and he held her close to his chest, wishing he could keep her safe.

"Shhh, I'm here my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, princess, so sorry." Mycroft murmured repeatedly, rocking Rayleigh softly.

Eventually, Rayleigh fell asleep. Looking at his sleeping daughter Mycroft suddenly felt fear grip him. What if she had been hurt seriously? How would he keep her safe once she grew up if he couldn't keep her safe here, in their home? Mycroft knew his current living arrangements with Rayleigh weren't ideal. Eventually she would grow up, and have to go to school, how would he protect her then?

These thoughts plagued Mycroft as he paced around the bedroom with Rayleigh sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. When Mycroft had first heard her pained call, he had feared the worst. He had been terrified that he would find Rayleigh being held by some madman who wanted revenge on Mycroft. Mycroft's very being shuddered; the thought of Rayleigh in even the slightest of danger was abhorrent. Rayleigh's pain filled cry of 'papa!' echoed in his ears and he knew it would haunt him forever.

He would have to revise his will. It was a good thing he had introduced Sherlock to Rayleigh. Sherlock would provide for her should anything happen to Mycroft. Mycroft wasn't a fool, he knew that his job made him a target, and he would be damned if he left Rayleigh in the lurch should such an event occur.

Gently laying her down on his bed, Mycroft shut the door behind him as he walked to the study. Entering it, he took out his old will and burnt it.

Sighing he sat down to write a new one.

Thirty minutes later he was done. Custody of Rayleigh had gone to Sherlock and John (without their permission but he hoped John would forgive him). All his estates had gone into Sherlock's temporary hold, only until Rayleigh turned eighteen, at which age she would automatically get complete ownership of all his estates except a small cottage in Tuscany where Sherlock kept his bees. At sixteen she would be allowed to manage her bank account that would give her a steady allowance of fifty thousand pounds every month, until she became eighteen and got full control over all the accounts. After slight contemplation, Mycroft decided that should anything happen to Rayleigh, all his estates and accounts would be dissolved and donated to various charities (a measure he took to prevent Sherlock from becoming too attached to them and murdering Rayleigh to keep control over Mycroft's assets).

A few items from their childhood he left solely to Sherlock along with a lifelong allowance of seventy five thousand pounds per month. All other sentimental items, he left to mummy and father. To John he left his Glock, in the hopes that John would use the gun to protect himself, Sherlock and Rayleigh. To DI Lestrade he left his pocket watch. He had often seen the policeman stare at it enviously, and so thought it would be best treasured by him. Anthea got his umbrella (a private joke between them) and a flat in Paris while Arthur got Mycroft's old Aston martin.

His will complete, Mycroft sealed it and kept it in his top right drawer and locked it. There were exactly two copies of the key to this drawer. One was with Mycroft, obviously, the other would be sent to Sherlock by sources Mycroft had arranged after Mycroft's death.

Standing, Mycroft walked back to his room. Seeing Rayleigh sleeping peacefully on his bed, Mycroft smiled. Moving to the bed he carefully repositioned them so that Mycroft was lying down on the bed, face up and Rayleigh was sleeping comfortably on his chest. Staring into his little angel's face Mycroft understood why people said children changed your life. It was because they truly did. Seeing Rayleigh sleep peacefully almost made him forget about the troubles of the day.

Almost

Mycroft frowned slightly as he recalled the file he had read about the German involvement in certain covert operations. He would have to do something about it. Soon, or the situation would worsen immensely. But that could wait; all that mattered right now was the angel sleeping on his chest. Kissing Rayleigh's forehead softly, Mycroft closed his eyes, ignoring the wave of uneasiness that had come over him when he remembered the situation with the German ambassador.

It could wait.

* * *

**Ooh, bad omens. Those of you who have read Family Trial realise what the "German ambassador" brings. At this point I would like to say, I have nothing against Germans and that I'm just trying to stick with the original story line of 'Family Trial'. One of my best friends is part German, and so I have nothing against them. **


	6. The End

**Last chapter of this story, I admit my eyes moistened up a bit towards the end. Anyway, this is where Family Trial begins. Enjoy!**

* * *

Mycroft hurried towards the exit of his office. Things with Germany had taken an ugly turn. While he had managed to peacefully resolve the situation, Mycroft had, in the process exposed some rather dishonourable activities of the German ambassador. The disgraced German ambassador had sworn revenge against Mycroft for his humiliation. Mycroft knew that the man would either try to harm Mycroft directly or would attempt to hurt his family, aka Sherlock and Rayleigh. Worry was eating him apart, he had already warned Sherlock and was now hurrying back home so that he could collect Rayleigh and leave.

The plan was simple. Mycroft would take his almost-two-year-old daughter and disappear for a few months while Anthea would lead the search for the German ambassador and have him terminated. The real catch was leaving London quickly. According to Intel, Ambassador Hans Gruber had already contacted a sniper.

Standing in front of the doors of his office, Mycroft knew that stepping out could mean his death, but the other option was staying in here safely while Rayleigh could be in danger at the townhouse. In Mycroft's mind there was no actual decision to be made; he would gladly walk to his death if that meant his daughter would remain safe.

Stepping out, he had barely taken two steps when he felt them. Three high velocity bullets piercing his chest at three strategic locations. As his blood stained his shirt and waistcoat, Mycroft fell to his knees. Around him he could hear people screaming and panicking. The pain hadn't set in yet, he was still in shock.

He had spoken too soon. Barely seconds after the thought had crossed his mind, the pain set in and it was unbearable. Seeing Anthea kneeling next to him trying to stop the bleeding with trembling hands, Mycroft muttered, "building 2, third floor." The location of the sniper, that Mycroft had managed to deduce by seeing the angle of entry of the bullets. Anthea nodded her comprehension and immediately called out orders. Now that he knew Sherlock and Rayleigh would be safe, Mycroft allowed himself to close his eyes.

_Forgive me Sherlock. Take care little brother. Watch your back, because I won't be able to anymore._

_I'm sorry Rayleigh. Never forget that I love you princess. Papa loves you, always has and always will. I'll watch over you Rayleigh, take care my darling girl. I'm so sorry Rayleigh._

Memories flashed through his mind, faster than he could comprehend them, but small pictures and sounds registered- fragments of his memories.

As he lost consciousness, his brilliant mind showed him one last fading memory.

_A little girl, eight months old, was sitting on his lap. Her face was aglow with happiness, her wide toothy smile lit up the room, her cheeks were flushed with pride and her beautiful blue eyes shined with love for him. Mycroft felt his chest constrict under the weight of his emotions, his love for the child on his lap. A single word rang out in the silence,_

"_Papa!" _

And the world went black.

* * *

"Mycroft Holmes, time of death, 9.30 am. C-cause of death, three gunshot wounds to the chest. Somebody call Scotland yard." Anthea choked out, tears pouring down her face, as she stared into the lifeless face of the wisest and most intelligent man she had ever known.


End file.
